x
Harry blinked when a cold breeze touched his stomach. It was dark; the only thing he could discern was a shadow moving about in the room. His stubbornly asleep brain refused to inform him about what was going on, so he remained lying and squinting until, a moment later, the shadow turned to him, took two steps forwards and braced his knee on the side of the bed.
To Harry's credit, he realised it was Tom before he was kissed.
"S'time?" he asked less than loquaciously in a hoarse whisper. Somehow the seemingly deep night made him speak quietly.
Tom pressed his forehead against Harry's solar plexus and remained motionless for a while, gathering the will to stand again. "Half past four. Don't get up. There's no need for both of us to bother."
"Love you," was as much as Harry was currently able to say on his feelings.
Tom snorted. With a grimace he lifted himself into a vertical position. "Yes, well… I get up very early in the morning to save you from having to do so."
Harry closed his eyes and burrowed under the covers. "Love you all th'more."
x
Not setting a time for the meeting that day caused many a proactive Death Eater to roam the hallways of Nott Manor as early as half past eight in the morning. Harry had to cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself to avoid displaying bleariness unbefitting of his stature on his way to the Baroque Balcony. Luckily, he was the only one aside from Tom and the two Theodores with right of entrance there, and he knew for a fact that the three were tied up elsewhere (even if he had but a dim idea about where exactly).
The Balcony offered a clear view of nearly the entire Hall while allowing the observer to remain hidden from sight. It had been added some time over the past fifty years, because when Harry had left in 1947, there wasn't even the impetus of an idea for it – the style it had been built in was merely an illusion of antiquity.
Harry settled in a chair that was much more comfortable than it looked and requested breakfast, including an overlarge mug of coffee with milk. It was delivered moments later by one of the elves that didn't have enough of a personality for anybody to differentiate them. Looking at the plate full of bakery, Harry wondered if Tom had eaten yet today. Most likely not.
He scowled and set his jaw to prevent his teeth from gritting. An idea occurred to him. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to make Draco Malfoy useful while at the same time teaching him humility. It was quite ugly, and the notion might have stemmed from the years when Draco had been Harry's school rival, but Harry reasoned it out to himself, and it seemed to make sense.
He didn't know the elder Malfoys well enough to be able to anticipate their reactions, but he imagined that they would both be livid at the same time as they would see the benefits – Narcissa Draco's, Lucius his own.
Harry was, in fact, smirking when Tom managed to extract himself from his obligations in the bowels of the Manor and found him on the Balcony.
"Anything interesting happen in my absence?" Tom asked glumly and aimed for the next armchair, to which Harry reacted by grasping his robe as he passed by and tugging him down into his lap. He ignored the obligatory huffing and a stern admonishment about such displays in public advertising weakness, inviting alternatively derision and familiarity, and assorted complaints. No one could see them anyway.
Admittedly, mere acknowledgement of the bond would have been enough information for a sufficiently clever dissenter determined to subvert them.
"Jugson attempted to harass Antonin by alluding to his supposed homosexuality… and submissiveness," Harry teased.
Tom failed to stop himself from snorting. "I could take that personally… and it has been a while since I've had the chance to truly torture someone." The briefest hint of frustration surfaced in his voice.
Harry understood that Tom was stressed, but perhaps he had underestimated just how much.
"If you believe it would help you," Harry said neutrally, and pushed the plate closer to Tom's hand. "Eat something."
"I'm not hungry," Tom protested, pulling away.
Harry relented because he could tell that his husband was uncomfortable in the position.
Tom relocated to the chair he had originally selected and looked ready to fall asleep where he was.
"I'm sure," Harry agreed. "You are under a lot of pressure, and it's natural that your appetite would fade. Nevertheless, you need the energy. Think of what kind of example you would be giving if you fainted in the middle of a meeting. How would that be for an illusion of no weakness?" Not to mention that Harry was virtually certain that Tom had taken a dose of Pepper-up Potion, and it was a strain on his already weakened digestive tract to drink it on an empty stomach.
Tom glared at him. Harry was, for once, affected by it. Tom's glares should not be that bleary, that apathetic. Harry had thought – admittedly idealistically – that after yesterday they would both return to normal, but Tom appeared to have been genuinely hurt somewhere along the way. Harry cursed himself for not having noticed sooner.
"I would not faint in a meeting," Tom claimed haughtily.
Harry acknowledged the statement; it rang too hollow for him to bother to dispute it. Dense as he was in emotional matters, he figured Tom needed support now and arguing with him – especially reminding him of his own vulnerability – would not have been helpful.
"I believe you," Harry said instead. "Don't chance it, though. You know that you require sustenance to function."
Tom silently nodded and picked a scone from the plate. Then he rose and with a half-hearted gesture to Harry left the room.
Harry had a sinking feeling that Tom was going to dispose of the food rather than eat it, and resolved to conspire with house-elves and possibly draft Draco Malfoy for a more menial role than he could envision himself in.
x
Harry spent the morning in preparations for his afternoon, going over the information on the twenty-one families he had picked as the representative sample of the Light side. He had a fire-call from Scrimgeour's assistant who, pale and shaking, informed him that the acting Minister was unable to clear his schedule and would not be attending the meeting; otherwise his time had passed in solitude that felt unfair compared to the stress he felt seeping through from Tom's side of the bond.
He promised himself to take on more responsibilities. He could not represent the New Order nearly as well as Tom did it, but there was no reason whatsoever why he couldn't have handled the tracking and detainment of the individuals they had promised to hand over to the Ministry.
Just past noon Harry decided that it was the highest time for Tom to have a break – a real one, not five minutes stolen to catch a breath – and walked into the ballroom. He passed empty conjured benches, then rows of seated supporters (he was fairly certain that few of these people were Marked), and briefly halted next to the group of Petrified and Bound captives, all of whom were awake and aware. They were either glaring at Tom for what they perceived as betrayal or pretending they hadn't noticed their predicament.
Tom was speaking with Lucius Malfoy, who was looking a damn sight better than he had the last time Harry had seen him. He was standing more or less straight, leaning on his cane that had been prolonged to actually fit his height for once, and holding a goblet in his left hand. His hair had re-gained the customary Malfoy shine, either from a glamour or as the result of some kind of magical treatment. Still, there was, despite all this effort, an air of convalescence around him.
"My wife mentioned to me that Severus was dead," Malfoy said, his voice a little lower than it used to be, as though his self-confidence had taken a beating in the depths of Azkaban. "If I may ask, how did it happen?"
Tom was, in fact, enjoying speaking with the man, even though Harry suspected it was because it saved him from communicating with some of the other people in attendance. That might have been why he had not yet gotten rid of Malfoy and, in fact, indulged his curiosity. "He was executed."
"Ah…" Malfoy sighed, and Harry finally noticed the vacant expression on his face.
Apparently, Tom wasn't being patient just because he was tired, but rather because he was hoping to figure out if he could trust Lucius not to stab him in the back.
"…so you found out about his treason."
There was a series of outraged gasps from the peanut gallery, echoed by the growls of the Carrows siblings.
"You knew and did not report him?" Tom inquired, without a change of expression.
"With all due respect, my Lord," Lucius replied, drugged by some kind of truth serum that didn't rob him of his personality, "you were insane. I was not keen on the dusty glory of the wizarding world sinking into a pit of Darkness, chaos and tyranny… I have a family to protect, therefore I kept my mouth shut. Far be it from me, however, to hinder someone who opposed our descent into the Abyss."
"What a muggle reference, Lucius," Tom said, almost amused rather than offended.
"It explains so much, though," Harry spoke up, ascending the stairs to the throne. "In the Department of Mysteries, Bellatrix attempted to kill me. She was stopped by Lucius, who claimed it was your exclusive right to dispatch me." He let his hand linger on Tom's shoulder, gauging just how thin his husband was stretching himself.
Too thin.
"Everything I said that night was the truth," Lucius defended himself, "but if Harry Potter died, so would our culture."
Lucius was quite possibly dead on, although not for the reasons he had considered. At this point, it was indubitable that Tom would follow Harry into death, dragged by their bond. Without either the Dark Lord,or the so-called Light Lord to maintain a semblance of order, the Ministry would attempt to manage the wizarding society, and some well-meaning idiot would free Dumbledore, and within two generations the entire magical Britain would collapse upon itself.
"Wow," Harry said blandly, inconspicuously stroking Tom's nape with his thumb. "Here you've got an intelligent follower capable of independent thinking. His loyalty is somewhat shaky, but give him a cause he believes in, and he'll become dependable."
"You say keep him?" Tom asked with a raised eyebrow. It made the question seem sarcastic, but Harry understood that Tom really wanted his opinion on this and, in fact, was grateful that the weight of the decision wasn't resting on him.
"Absolutely," Harry replied with cool certainty. Lucius was far more adept at maneuvering through the murky waters of the Ministry of Magic than either Harry or Tom could hope to become. "Not in the Innermost Circle, but perhaps in the Inner. I've got an idea…"
Here was Harry's chance to delegate the oppressive necessity of orchestrating the farce of a trial for Dumbledore – better yet, to transfer the responsibility onto someone who knew what to do without reading countless law books, and on whom he could take out his displeasure, should the effort fail.
"Lucius, how do you feel about Dumbledore?" Harry asked, fluently taking over the initiative from his husband, who did not protest, content to lean back and observe.
"Meddling, mudblood-loving old coot," Lucius said bluntly, losing some of his eloquence to the drug. "Needed him alive, unfortunately, to oppose the Dark Lord and keep balance…"
"And now that the Dark Lord has been pacified?" Harry asked, smiling.
"I resent that," Tom hissed under his breath.
Harry tightened his hold on the bony shoulder under his fingers. The skin was cold, and he could feel it even through the heavy robe.
"Must not become a martyr," Lucius replied with pragmatism Harry could respect. The audience raised a supportive murmur. "Fanatic followers would unite and oppose the Order."
"Suggestions?" Harry demanded, looking pointedly at the interrogated wizard. Fortunately, the onlookers understood that he wasn't asking for their brainstorming.
"Open trial. Reporters and public must observe. Has to look genuine." Lucius swayed a little, and a Healer sprung up seemingly from nowhere, steadying him. Either too physically exhausted to protest or drugged enough to lose his foolish pride, Lucius accepted the support without the slightest protest.
"Tom?" Harry said. He had already decided, and was asking for an opinion only due to formalities. It was better if these Dark wizards and witches heard the commands from the Dark Lord's mouth. "Lucius is good with this type of politicking… legal loopholes, swaying the opinion… isn't he?"
"Yes," Tom agreed. "If anyone is able to organise a trial for Dumbledore and have him incarcerated for the rest of his life, it is Lucius."
Harry nodded and pinned the Lord Malfoy with a look that used to disconcert his father so much. It didn't seem to have the same effect on the son, but then, Lucius was presently doped up to his eyeballs. "Start on it as soon as your health allows you to," Harry said, and gave the Healer the go-ahead to lead the man out of the room. "Is there something that absolutely cannot wait until after you've eaten?"
Tom scowled at Harry, but for once he didn't argue. He instructed the waiting supporters to come back at five and let Harry accompany him to the dining hall.
x
"…disappointed."
Harry approached the parlour. The left wing of the door was open, and through it he could see that the representatives of the Light part of New Order's support base were already seated and waiting for him to appear. He was quite interested in what they had to say, so he paused in the hallway and listened.
"You actually expected more?" Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice asked with apparent disdain for the first speaker. "I would have said it was impossible to have that much power, had I not seen it with my own two eyes." The Auror sounded apprehensive rather than awed, which could have been a good thing as easily as it could have been a bad thing.
Harry decided to postpone judgment. He had not expected Shacklebolt to accept the invitation at all; he had thought the man to be too much under Dumbledore's thumb.
"Of course not!" the first speaker defended himself. Harry didn't recognise the voice, so by process of elimination that would have been either Samuel Jordan or Algernon Longbottom.
"Then what is the problem?" asked the chilly – and unmistakable – Portia Prewett. Harry remembered her from Hogwarts fifty-five years ago. She had actually had an affair with Moody, one that resulted in several impressive blow-ups and numerous detentions for the destruction of school property.
Harry was almost certain that Moody adopted his favourite saying due to scarring (physical and emotional) by his brief but explosive relationship with Portia. He was very glad that the witch was amenable to joining them.
"They aren't handling it!" the disappointed man responded angrily. "It's a political disaster! Already people are crying out for Albus' release, and it's only going to get worse!"
"Albus is good where he is," Portia said resolutely. "You can only insult a hippogriff so many times before it bites off your head. Albus always thought about himself too much – and thought too much of himself."
There was scattered laughter when several people mistook Portia's candour for witticism, but it quieted quickly in the serious atmosphere.
"Still, it is a valid concern," opined Augusta Longbottom, whose attendance Harry also had not counted on. He had feared that she was irreversibly hostile towards Tom… though now that he thought about it, she only had a grudge against the Lestranges and the late Crouch Junior…
"I agree that Dumbledore should be put on trial," Ted Tonks asserted, "and a fair one if at all possible. I have heard enough about his practices from my daughter that I don't doubt he would be found guilty of several nasty crimes."
"Child-endangerment," Amos Diggory said with a funereal air.
There was a moment of silence.
"Still," Tonks continued, "you must realise that no one could have anticipated this situation. Certainly, the Riddles wanted these results, but I'm sure they had planned them on a schedule over the next year – years, even. They weren't prepared for such a rapid turnover."
"They're not handling it," Jordan (of whose identity Harry was now reasonably certain) repeated. "They aren't flexible enough, apparently. The Order should either elect someone with political acumen to represent it, or stop trying to uproot the Ministry."
"Dumbledore's trial is being heralded as we speak," Harry announced, standing in the doorway.
Every eye in the room shifted to him. He smiled – the soft, honest smile that he put on whenever he was expected to command the attention of a greater audience. Speeches didn't come naturally to him like they did to Tom, but he did have the ability to make people believe him – or believe in him.
"Welcome," Harry said, mentally counting the wizards and witches in attendance. There were seventeen of them; four had refused the invitation. It was still better than he had dared envision, especially at such a short notice. "I'm honoured to see you here, and hope that our dialogue will be fruitful."
x
Harry was a little disappointed but not at all surprised that Arthur Weasley had simply not turned up. Similarly, Amelia Bones' and Magnus McKinnon's absence was hardly unanticipated; both families had been the victims of some of the bloodiest Death Eater massacres in the seventies.
Portia let him know that she had no intention whatsoever to be a part of the same party as the man who had effectively murdered her nephews, but that she similarly didn't intend to stand in the way of the two young men she had known as a girl and privately agreed with. Gawain Robards, the brand new Head Auror, proclaimed himself neutral and stressed that he had sworn to uphold the law, which Harry accepted in the spirit of a warning in which it was given.
Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden, Wizengamot Elders and the two people in the room whose sheer age intimidated Harry, asked to be convinced by actions in the future and left with heartfelt well-wishes. Harry rather suspected that they both remembered himself and Tom from the time they had taken their N.E.W.T.s.
The rest of Harry's guests promised their support (Augusta Longbottom with the stipulation that Bellatrix Lestrange would be turned over to justice), with the sole exception of Minerva McGonagall, who had not spoken for the duration of the debate, and remained seated after Harry thanked everyone for their attendance and promised to be in contact.
Harry felt Tom awaken as Hu Chang left for the Apparition Chamber, tailing the procession lead by Theodore Nott the Third, whom Harry had drafted for this part.
Harry closed the door and sat down opposite the freshly appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts. Of the wizards and witches he had invited today, Harry felt he knew her best – he had known her as a child and as an adult, for years.
"I didn't think you would come," he said honestly. "I'm happy that you did."
McGonagall scoffed. She glared at him; the look in her eyes reminded Harry of Tom, and it struck him just how run-down she must have been. Paradoxically, these negotiations might have been a chance for her to just switch off for a while and rest her overworked mind, for Harry suspected that she had made a decision concerning the New Order long before she entered Nott Manor.
"You don't look well, Mr Potter," she said, like a true Gryffindor.
Harry smiled. "It's been a couple of difficult days. How are you holding up at Hogwarts?" He wasn't quite sure what she wanted to talk about, but he was content to make small talk before she felt ready to share.
"You threw a wrench into the works, kidnapping Albus." There was no resentment in her voice, oddly, only disappointment and weariness. She palpated a tiny leather pouch she had hanging on her neck and pulled it up to sniff it. It must have contained a calming, or perhaps an invigorating substance. "I have witnessed Albus committing acts that I was strongly opposed to, acts that chilled me to the bone, even, but there never was anyone else who stood up to You Know Who. There was no alternative, Mr Potter, and I like to think that Albus, same as I, did the best he could."
"I don't think that Dumbledore was a bad man," Harry said, and in that particular phrasing it was actually true. "He was selfish, yes, but who isn't?" Feeling like he was playing the Devil's advocate and not liking it one bit, Harry asked: "Are you familiar with Darwin's theories, Headmistress?"
McGonagall nodded, took another sniff and let the pouch fall, where it landed softly in between folds of her emerald green robe.
"Survival of the fittest," Harry pointed out. "Dumbledore isn't the fittest anymore. He's not been for decades, I think, and if not for some statistically impossible occurrences, Tom would have pushed him out of his chair around the time my parents were born." Harry suspected there was something twisted about being married to a man who would have been in his prime before Harry's parents had been born, but he chose not to waste time and energy on contemplating something so philosophical.
"What truly happened?" McGonagall asked, imploring Harry to give her some excuse for her decision to support the Order. "We only have suppositions and wild guesswork. Explain it to me, please… Harry…"
He wasn't certain if he liked this woman addressing him so familiarly, but he chose not to make a scene about it at this time. If she insisted on doing it in the future, he would later request that she stop, but at the moment it was more important to reassure her so that the New Order's influence at Hogwarts would not be actively opposed by the administration.
"I won't disclose how and why, but on my birthday I was, unwittingly, pulled into the year 1943. I attended the sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts, was Sorted into Slytherin, and through series of unforeseen circumstances saw through my initial antagonism toward Tom to the person he was." He paused, considering how much he was willing to disclose. Omitting their relationship wholly wasn't feasible, but it was just too private to put on display for the public. What he and Tom had was sacred to Harry, and he would not cheapen it by bragging about it to someone whom it didn't concern. "Tom and I got married in spring 1946. A year later I was, again unwillingly, transported back through time."
He gave the older witch a while to digest the information.
She reached for the pouch on her neck again, but didn't sniff it this time. Slowly, she nodded as understanding dawned. "The reason for You Know Whose insanity was the disruption in your wedding bond. Essentially, the cause of the war was your transportation through time…?"
"Correct," Harry said.
McGonagall flinched.
Perhaps Harry was being too inconsiderate, but he did not think any more coddling would be beneficial to his future working relationship with the Headmistress. He stood and gentlemanly offered his hand. She accepted and let him help her up and lead her out of the parlour, in the same direction as Theodore had led the rest of the visitors.
"I hope I am not making a mistake, Mr Potter," she said as they neared their destination, "but I am, personally and in the capacity of the Headmistress of Hogwarts, prepared to listen to you and your husband's opinions. I also hope," she took a deep breath, as if steeling herself, "that the Gryffindor I have known for the past five years lives on inside you. In that spirit, I give you these."
She recovered a pack of envelopes from the inner pocket of her cloak, and handed them to him. "Your friends – at least I hope they are still your friends – asked me to give those to you. They miss you."
Harry acknowledged the statement with a nod, but offered no sentiments in return. Frankly, he did not need nagging children following him around and sticking their noses where they didn't belong, but he also would have liked to maintain some contact with the people he cared about.
"Thank you, Headmistress," he said. "Good luck with the school."
"Good luck to you, too, Mr Potter," she replied, and Disapparated.
Harry spun on his heel and gestured Theodore, who had remained at hand in case he was needed, to come down from the ledge he had seated himself on.
"It seems to have gone well, my Lord," the boy remarked.
Harry offered him a smile of appreciation, and set out toward the throne room. He knew Tom had since returned there to continue the day's work when his two hours of potion-induced sleep were up.
"Contact Narcissa Malfoy for me," he ordered. "Tell her I wish to speak with her – today if possible. If not, then tomorrow in the morning. Afterwards come find me. I should be in the Hall."
"Yes, My Lord," Theodore said, and disappeared down a secret passage.
x
"Enough," Harry said when at half past eight Tom opened his mouth to instruct Avery to bring him another pile of parchments.
His command garnered no response whatsoever, so he stood from the table he had conjured hours ago and Banished the mountain of work to the Private Study. Only the Notts could enter there, and they were both bright and loyal enough not to mess with Tom's documents. "Go to sleep, Tom. We'll sort out the extradition tomorrow."
Tom looked like he wanted to argue, but Harry caught his forearm, and then his eye, and Tom reconsidered. He nodded, accepted Harry's kiss to his knuckles with indifference stemming from mental exhaustion, and Apparated to the Green Suite.
"Antonin, Dexia," Harry addressed the two Death Eaters waiting for instructions, "you and your teams take the captives into the dungeons and secure them. Any damage done to them will be replicated on the enterprising individual's body. I hope that's clear enough."
"Yes, sir," Dexia Japes said with a shallow bow and marched out, followed closely by Antonin, who merely raised his hand in a mute farewell.
"Are you tired, Theodore?" Harry inquired.
The boy, seated next to the fireplace with a book on detection spells, considered the question much too seriously. Eventually he said: "Not really, My Lord. For me it has not been a particularly demanding day."
"Then you would not mind accompanying me to my interview with Malfoy?"
Harry had chosen the Open Study for the location, so he had to get up to the first floor. Theodore made an attempt to follow respectfully half a step behind him, but Harry instructed him to walk so that they could talk.
"Would you consider yourself Draco's friend?" he asked.
Theodore breathed out louder than normally.
Harry guessed he had just stopped himself from snorting.
"No, My Lord." Seeing Harry's questioning expression, he elucidated: "Draco Malfoy does not have friends. He has allies and sycophants, depending on how useful to him they can be, or how useful they feel he can be to them."
"Yourself?" Harry inquired, genuinely interested. As far as he recalled, he had never registered any significant affiliation between Theodore and Malfoy, but he had been a Gryffindor, and not a very observant one.
"Malfoy has nothing I want," Theodore replied succinctly.
Harry wondered if a parallel could be drawn to his friendship with the Weasleys and Hermione. He decided it could not, but it nevertheless put a proverbial bee into his proverbial bonnet.
They reached the Study, where Narcissa was being offered tea by one of the personality-free house elves.
"Good evening, Lady Malfoy," Harry said.
Theodore bowed his head and took a post that would ordinarily be reserved for a bodyguard, had Harry needed one.
A tea set appeared on the table in front of the witch. She didn't bat an eye, and went to stand to properly greet her host. Harry gestured her to remain seated – not proper etiquette, but the day had been long and stressful, and he doubted she would mind for once not observing all the numerous social niceties. He noticed she wore flat shoes, out of character for her yet understandable if she had spent hours on her feet.
"Good evening, My Lord," she replied softly.
"Thank you for coming so promptly. Has your son returned to Hogwarts yet?"
Narcissa tensed, but a second later she relaxed again, as if Harry had just imagined it. She was a very consummate player of the pureblood games, and had Harry been a prey in the balance of power, he would not have stood a chance. As it was, Narcissa didn't dare risk deceiving him.
"Not yet, my Lord. I have supplied him with a portkey that will activate tomorrow in the early morning." She fell silent, scrutinising Harry for signs of impending explosion.
Harry resolved to remember how loosely the Malfoys tended to interpret direct orders. Otherwise he didn't find the matter important enough to warrant repercussions. "Give him this and instruct him to keep it," he said, setting an elegant black leather-bound book on the table next to the teapot.
It was, although Narcissa was not to know, a diary personalised to Draco Malfoy, warded against intrusion and liberally improved with compulsion enchantments that wouldn't let the owner avoid it or lie in it. It was yet another product of Harry's successful morning.
"It will not harm him," Harry promised her solemnly.
Narcissa accepted, expertly disguising her unwillingness, and stashed the book away inside her cloak.
"I have a question about Draco, actually," Harry said then, and Narcissa's eyes went sharp within a split second. She did not intimidate him, but it would have been stupid to underestimate her, especially as he was plotting to put her child into a potentially humiliating situation. "How much does he wish to become a Death Eater?"
Had the one asking this question been Tom, it would have been poisonous. Narcissa was not yet able to tell if Harry was at all different from his husband, so she presumed she was being tested. There were no correct answers when it came to the Dark Lord, only acceptable ones.
Narcissa did her best to keep her family from harm. "Draco has always been looking forward to his initiation. Gaining the honour of the Dark Mark is one of his fondest wishes. However, at the present time I do not feel he is ready for such responsibility."
Harry smirked, for no other reason than because it disconcerted her. "I respect your feelings, Lady Malfoy, but I was asking about your son's opinion."
Narcissa set down her cup of tea, since her hands were beginning to quiver, and the robe she was wearing was way too expensive for her to risk sloshing tea over it.
Harry glanced over at Theodore; the boy was observing everything through his fringe, for once not the least bit reminiscent of Tom.
"He has yet to reconcile with the reality of your existence, my Lord," she said calmly, but obviously resigned to a Cruciatus for her perceived failure.
If Harry had thought harming his mother would have made a dent in Malfoy's obstinacy, he might have considered it. Otherwise, he just didn't see a reason.
"You cannot help that, Narcissa. He remains hostile toward me, and he's stubborn to the point of stupidity," he told her straightforwardly. Of the Malfoys, she was the one he was best able to communicate with, so he would have liked to keep her pliable. "He needs to fall down hard enough to break that stubbornness, and then he will be useful. He is imaginative enough to be brought into the centre."
Narcissa didn't like that (a second Dark Lord telling her he had plans for her child must have been a disquieting experience), but she knew Harry could have taken offence and made Draco's life into a living Hell, so she bowed her head and forced herself to say: "Thank you for your patience with him, my Lord."
Harry shrugged. He didn't really care enough about Draco Malfoy to be bothered by his childish tantrums; he didn't feel threatened by the displays and therefore saw no reason to keep proving his power over the boy.
"He will spend his Christmas holidays here. Hopefully, by the twenty-second of December, he will be ready to behave like an adult."
"Yes, my Lord," Narcissa replied, and almost displayed her relief at being dismissed. She politely refused Harry's offer to see her to the Apparition Chamber and left in a flurry of skirts.
Theodore shifted once she was out of sight, but didn't speak up.
"You have questions?" Harry encouraged him.
The boy looked at him imploringly. After a moment he ventured: "You want to Mark Malfoy, my Lord?"
Harry chuckled. "I will Mark Draco Malfoy as my follower the day I feel he could be useful to me."